


For You

by vaderina



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: After effects of curses, Angst, Curses, Hurt Newt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, memory problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 17:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaderina/pseuds/vaderina
Summary: There's an old wives' tale about a spell that involves true love in its most selfless form. It it said that the spell means any curse, hex or magic thrown at an individual will not hurt them but rather will pass on to their one true love. In a fight against Grindelwald Graves is left unaffected by all spells, too bad he's never been in love before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to keep an ending of angst then only read the first chapter.

Spells crackled throughout the room. They coloured the air like lethal poppers, giving death and agony a cheery hue. In the midst of it a group of aurors were battling Grindelwald and amongst them Graves stood tall. With a fierce snarl he hurled curse after hex at his opponent, vendetta fuelled him on. All it took was one lucky spell, one lapse in concentration and one broken shield. The red curse curved through the air and slammed into Graves’ chest, Grindelwald gave out a triumphant laugh. His grin faded when Graves stayed upright, seemingly unaffected by what should have been an agonising hex.

Somewhere in the world a redhead stumbled in his case from a sudden onslaught of agony.

Desperation wove its way into the fighting, Graves seemed impervious to even the most vile of curses. A cruciatus sunk into his skin like a lover’s caress while burning spells dripped off him, slashing hexes stroked over his body and cramp inducing curses left him standing without a single hitch of breath. Grindelwald growled in frustration, fought dirty, sent the darkest torture spells he knew at the man, determined to break him.

Somewhere in the world a redhead cried out in pain and called for Theseus.

Finally it was just Grindelwald standing against Graves, spells fizzled out and they stared at each other at an impasse.

“This is an old spell,” Grindelwald spat out and sent a crushing spell at Graves who didn’t even bother blocking it. “One based on love. Who could love you enough to do this? Who could you not love enough to at least try to stop them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now give up Grindelwald, you will not win.” The reply was gritted out over clenched teeth, hatred curled deep in Graves’ stomach.

“No spell can touch you, you must have noticed,” Grindelwald laughed. A thought formed in his mind. “Did you not realise someone loved you enough to shoulder your pain? Or have you forgotten them?”

Graves didn’t bother replying. He launched a ferocious attack. Given his newfound ability to be unaffected by spells he focussed on the offensive, pushed Grindelwald back. He took what should have been debilitating blow after blow without pause and with a final shout he clutched Grindelwald’s wand in his hand, the man stood opposite him defenceless.

“You are under arrest,” he gritted out as he conjured cuffs out of thin air. Grindelwald was whisked away promptly after that and Graves turned to Picquery as she arrived to watch the scene. “What the hell is going on?”

She simply sighed sadly.

“It would be easier to show you.”

Graves let himself be apparated away without a word. He wished he had resisted more because when the world unfurled around him again the first thing he heard was the pained gasping breath of someone. On the floor there were two figures huddled together. He recognised one of them but the other was a mystery. The unknown man had red hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his fingers were red and brown with drying blood and scratch marks littered his arm and chest as if he’d try to claw some unimaginable agony out of himself. Lips were bitten raw, his breathing was shallow as though each little burst of air was fire burning through his lungs. The tremors of his whole body, little twitches of limbs were one Graves recognised at least as the aftereffects of a cruciatus curse or five. One of his arms was at a strange angle and Graves tried not to wince at the implication it held of muscles contracting and cramping hard enough to break bones. The man’s eyes tracked unseeing from under half shut eyelids and occasionally his lips moved as though he were silently praying or begging for something to stop. He was cradled in Theseus’ lap, an arm was wrapped around his shoulder and another curled under his knees. Theseus himself looked up at them with tear tracks staining his cheeks.

Percival crouched down to get a better look at the man his friend was holding so carefully. He expected recognition to at least niggle away at him but instead he got nothing. After a few moments of silence he looked at his friend and asked.

“Theseus, what happened here and who is he?”


	2. Chapter 2

                Things happened in a whirlwind of action after that. Healers appeared in cracks of apparitions and descended on Theseus and the injured man. There was nothing for Graves to do other than look at Picquery for an explanation. They were in an apartment of some kind, the bedroom looked neat and tidy except for a battered old brown suitcase kicked out of the way at the side of the room. Without a word Picquery led them into the kitchen and set about brewing some tea.

“That was Newt Scamander,” she said and watched him for any flicker of emotion. There was none to be found and she sighed. “He was meant to break the spell when you got back.”

“What spell?” Graves was getting agitated over being kept in the dark. He wanted answers not more questions.

“A lover’s protection.”

“Are you seriously talking to me about old fashioned romance tales right now? You know those don’t exist. True pure love doesn’t exist,” he raged and watched sadness cloud Picquery’s face.

“You sound just like you used to.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Graves shouted. Two cups of tea were floated to the table where Picquery sat down by one of them and gestured for him to do the same. Once he sat she began to talk.

“I don’t even know whose idea it was. We were desperate, we needed some way, any way, to defeat Grindelwald. You were our best hope but he’d already bested you once. Somehow lover’s protection came up and Newt offered. I’d never seen you so angry. You didn’t want to be distracted by the knowledge that each hit you couldn’t deflect was felt by him while you got off without so much as a bruise. You didn’t want Newt hurt. It was his idea to make you forget. He said as soon as you were back he’d counter the spells and release you. I guess he was too far gone to be able to do it.”

“What you’re trying to tell me is that I agreed to use an archaic spell based on love with next to zero chances of working?”

“We were desperate. And I should have remembered you never believed in love before Newt.”

Graves raised an eyebrow at Picquery in disbelief. Love was not something he ever sought out, it wasn’t something he’d ever really considered for himself. To have his president sit opposite him in some stranger’s flat and tell him that he’d not only found love but the purest form of it that was the basis of an ancient old spinster’s tale spell was madness. He almost laughed at the idea and the only thing that held him back was the image of the man in Theseus’ arms, so utterly broken. To think anybody would be willing to suffer so much for love, for him, was unthinkable.

“We’ll go visit Newt when it’s possible,” Picquery finally said and drank her tea.

They went into the hospital room together. Theseus was in the chair next to the bed, he looked ready to fall apart. On the bed the man called Newt lay unmoving, an oxygen mask covered most of his face, the mist in it was tinted purple from whatever healing potion he was inhaling with each breath. Of all the things Graves had read about the man he struggled to figure out how they could love each other. Newt was considerably younger than him, a wild spirit with little care for the law that Graves worked so hard to cultivate and maintain.

“How is he?” Picquery asked gently. More gentle than Graves ever remembered her sounding and he wondered how Newt had earned such softness from her.

“He’ll live. They’re keeping him under until the worst of it can be healed. There’s a wasting curse they’re still trying to crack, it burns through him every 4 hours, quite literally. Last time they had to all but dump him in an ice bath to cool him down.”

Graves stood to the side at watched. He felt nothing for the man in the bed other than pity. It was impossible to imagine how he’d willingly suffered every curse Grindelwald threw at Graves and there was guilt building up in Graves for not deflecting every spell he could. But he hadn’t known at the time that the curses were being redirected to someone who loved him so selflessly. Someone that Graves couldn’t ever imagine loving in return.

They left not long after that, reassured that Newt would make good recovery and promises that Graves could have his memories back soon.

                The next time Graves saw Newt was back in the apartment. He’d been encouraged to visit and despite his reluctance he found himself on the doorstep with a box of chocolates as a get well soon gift. Of course he felt grateful for being protected from the spells, for being given the opportunity to exact revenge and capture Grindelwald. It was only the part about the spell being based on love that Graves struggled to comprehend. Either way, he knew he needed to express his gratitude to the man he couldn’t remember now that he was conscious. The door opened and Theseus ushered him in.

Inside it was half-light. Vaguely Graves remembered blinding curse sinking into his eyes without any effect. It his memory served it worked on the principle of increased light sensitivity burning out the backs of eyes over time. A nasty curse, one he’d thankfully never seen used before until then. He walked into the apartment and saw Newt. He was frail, back supported against a few pillows as he lay across the couch. A throw covered him legs and chest but his shoulders were free. One slipped bare as he turned stiffly to face Graves.

“Percival,” his smile was tired but relieved, “they told me you were okay but I didn’t want to believe it until I saw you myself.”

“Yes, well, thank you for all you’ve done. Here’s some get well soon chocolates.” Graves pushed the box awkwardly towards Newt as he formally thanked him. Internally he bristled at being called Percival by a stranger. What he wasn’t expecting was a small laugh that turned into a hollow cough and the chocolates were gently pushed aside.

“I suppose you’d like your memories back now. I’ve kept them safe for you,” Newt tried to reach for his wand but what little strength he had wasn’t enough.

“There’s no rush,” Graves hurried to reassure him, “you can’t miss what you didn’t know you had.”

Newt shot him a small bitter smile.

“But perhaps rather selfishly I’d rather like you back.” There was no arguing with that. “If you look in the second draw next to the sink in the case you’ll find the vial.”

“The case with all the dangerous creatures? I’m not going in there,” Graves baulked.

“They’re not dangerous,” Newt reflexively pouted. There was a noise from behind them and Theseus stood in the doorway, wand in one hand a glowing pearly silver vial in the other. Wordlessly he handed it to Graves who slipped it in his pocket.

“Thank you. For everything. I hope you feel better soon,” he said and turned to leave. There was nothing he could say to a man who he knew and heard nothing good about. If he glanced over his shoulder to see a look of loss and perhaps betrayal on Newt’s face it wasn’t going to haunt him.

                Back at home he palmed the vial. It glistened with whispered promises of memories. Graves wasn’t sure if he wanted them back. If he could afford to jeopardise his career with romance. He told himself he was happy as he was, he didn’t need additional baggage in the shape of a law flaunting creature lover who professed pure and unadulterated love for him. The vial in his hand grew warm in his palm. He wondered whether he could deny forever part of himself. That night he went to sleep with the vial glowing gently on the bedside table.

In the morning Graves got up. He looked at the vial and with a grim finality shattered the top of it and let the growing fog envelop him. It was like watching a play except rather than appreciating it from the outside he got the full emotional experience of one of the actors. Or rather the full emotional experience of himself. Memories flitted about as they reincorporated themselves. He got flashes of arguments, pleading and screaming matches about trying out a ridiculous spell. They were interspersed with dinner dates, with wide smiles, gentle kisses, lying in bed sweaty and happy. Meetings where people argued forwards and backwards about defeating Grindelwald, ways to strengthen their side. Memories of meeting the creatures, of Graves melting away to give way to Percival. A tearful final night together. Of realising the spell worked, Newt floating next to him rather than Percival who had been hit by the spell. There was terror in Newt’s eyes even as he tried to be brave. They knew he was going to be in pain soon. The only thing they could do was hope that it wouldn’t be for nothing.

“You’ll need to forget me completely,” Newt had whispered in his ear, a hand brushed through his hair. The wand at the back of his head moved and then Percival woke up as Graves.

Percival’s eyes snapped open. Newt. He scrambled out of bed, hastily threw clothes on as he hurried to apparate in at least a semi presentable state. In his haste he almost splinched himself. There was no point in knocking when he knew how to pass through the wards of the place he’d begun to call home. He let himself into the flat, it was dark in there but Newt wasn’t on the sofa. Carefully Percival picked his way through the familiar path to the bedroom where he knocked lightly before pushing his head through the door.

Newt was shivering on the bed, a light throw draped over him. Anything heavier probably caused more pain than comfort. Percival approached on silent feet and laid a hand on Newt’s shoulder. The man stilled under him before slowly turning to look up, unashamed of the tears Percival bore witness to.

“Percival,” Newt rasped.

“I’m sorry Newt, so so sorry,” Percival began and was silenced by a hand lacing with his. The bed was big enough for both of them but Newt still tugged him down as close as possible. Percival curled behind Newt, an arm wrapped around his waist and pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck.

“You came back, that’s the most important thing,” Newt whispered.

“I’m back and I’m never leaving you, I promise,” Percival replied.

**Author's Note:**

> I have prompts on tumblr that I'm working through. If you want to add to the list then hit me up on @ladyoftheshrimp


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